


The Sky Is Falling

by irorn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Avengers Tower, F/M, M/M, Saving the World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:26:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6187366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irorn/pseuds/irorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles didn’t look at the people in front of him, though—his gaze was locked on his guns, the loaded weapons securely settled on his belt. It brought him some comfort that they didn’t make him remove them. He was standing in front of Lydia, Kira, and Scott leaving him to feel a bit awkward, but still very much angry for being forced here.</p>
<p>“Deadpool—” Deaton starts.</p>
<p>“Mister Pool will suffice—”</p>
<p>“Stiles.”</p>
<p>“Derek don’t be such a—”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sky Is Falling

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it and for some reason want more of my writing prompt me on Tumblr  
> Tumblr: irorn

Returning back to California is an exercise of self-restraint and sadism. People, each supporting their respective desires, linger on street corners, ready to take others possessions in a moment’s notice. The homeless line the streets creating towns of their own within Los Angeles proper. Translucent teens drift through alleys looking to score more cocaine, heroine, ecstasy. When he was younger, Los Angeles was better. Coloured through the rose-colored glasses of time, Derek remembers movie theaters wafting smells of popcorn instead of gasoline, the water of the bay speckled with fish instead of corpses of mobsters, the sheriff’s department handcuffing bad guys instead of releasing them. Then again, his parents were around in those days.  
  
The Hales were a powerhouse of social justice and reform. It was a classic case of citizens helping in places where government couldn’t. Need an orphanage but don’t have the funds? The Hales would start one. Don’t have cheap travel to help the working class? Guess what; the Hale family would start working on.  Talia and Robert Hale were the richest people in Los Angeles, but no one resented them for that fact because they were also the ones with the biggest hearts.  
  
But after they died, after they were taken from him and Laura, it looks like Los Angeles went to shit once more. At the time, Derek didn’t care. Why should he care about the shithole that leeched off his parents until they had no more to give? Until the city eventually ended up killing them? No. Derek didn’t give two fucks when he turned his back and left for New York with his sister. If anything, he should be more furious with this place. He should be livid, shaking with fury at the fact that Beacon Hills managed to claim his last family member.  
  
But now?  
  
Now, Derek is looking at the city through rose-colored glasses. That’s why Derek continues this exercise of self-restraint and sadism. That’s why Derek goes out every night, not only looking for the men who took his parents and his sister, but also instilling fear into those who beat other people, who sell drugs to teenagers, who recruit for the gangs. That’s why he puts up with the guy in red spandex and a pair of katanas with guns to match.  
  
The guy had started showing up a week after Derek had returned. Derek wasn’t sure why no one else seemed to be as bothered by the guy as much as Derek was by him, but it was infuriating. Speaking of which, said guy was following after him.  
  
“So big guy what’s on the agenda today? Stop a few homicides, knock someone out with those thick eyebrows of yours, or better yet show me what exercises you do to get an ass like that. Cause my anaconda yes,” Deadpool says as he swings his legs back and forth on the top of a parked car.  
  
He looks relaxed and Derek is half wondering if people even consider Deadpool an actual superhero. Everyone knows that his methods of justices aren’t really…ideal, yet no one does anything about it.  
  
“Fuck off Stiles,” Derek grumbled as he walked past him and continued his way down the road. Sometimes Derek wondered where the agency even found the guy. He was a nuisance. A foul-mouthed sarcastic nuisance that has apparently taken a liking to bothering Derek on a daily bases.  
  
“Hey, too late for that one big guy, did that this morning,” he says hopping off the car and following after him, “Speaking of which, I didn’t get the pleasure of being slammed against a wall this morning. Don’t tell me you’ve grown tired of our little cat and mouse game.”  
  
Derek harrumphs and sped up his pace as the spastic guy in red skipped after him. Derek rolled his eyes and pulled the Shield phone out to send an update to Deaton, before turning his head to face Stiles when he started talking.  
  
“Why do you even have that thing? Do you honestly need to update your pack of pansies twenty-four-seven?” Stiles asked with an eyeroll.  
  
“Stiles, do you even have a phone?”  
  
Stiles sighed and started digging around in the pouches strapped to him. A number of things fell out, taco bell hot sauce packets, gum wrappers, an empty box of Captain America themed band aids. After a few moments he made a triumphant noise and held up a phone, an IPhone model that nearly everyone in California had. Deadpool had seen fit to put his into a Hello Kitty case, with the cat’s face colored in to resemble his own mask. He poked at the screen a few times and then flipped it to show Derek.  
  
“Unlike you and your Avenger Shield shitty phone, I’m actually up to—”

  
  
“You couldn’t just cooperate with me now could you? You just had to make it all so difficult.”

  
Stiles and Derek both hear the words, and stop to stare at each other. Seconds later an ear-piercing scream could be heard from a narrow alleyway. They start sprinting then. Adamantium claws extending out of Derek's skin, while Stiles is pulling a gun out of his holder. Arriving at the scene they both come to a screeching stop. Blood is everywhere and there are whimpering sounds coming from the corner as a burly man stepped into view. Derek's eyes land on the girl who's trying to piece her clothes back together. Derek scowls at the guy, and lunged towards the guy immediately as he slashed his claws at him. Deadpool goes to help the girl while Wolverine worked on teaching the guy a lesson. When he gets her back on her feet Deadpool turns to see Derek and doubles over in laughter at the sight. Derek has the guy pinned against the wall with his claws inches away from his face. The guy was shaking and cringing in fear with a giant wet stain in the front of his pants.  
  
"Oh my god he's pissed himself! You should have worn black pants bro, you look fucking ridiculous," Deadpool says and pretends to wipe a few tears from his mask.  
  
"Y-yeah make fun all you want! Bitch on her period anyway," the guy says still trembling and obviously scared out of his mind.  
  
Before Derek could even do anything, Stiles shot the guy in the crotch and then in the shin causing him to fall over. Derek gives Stiles a hard glare, and Stiles shrugs dismissively before he's turning to the girl and making sure she wasn't badly injured. When she's done crying and Derek gives her his jacket, they call the police and stay until they hear the sirens before leaving her with them.  
  
Getting back to the house Derek doesn't even think about it when Stiles comes in as well. He vaguely listens as he takes his mask off and then set all of his weapons in the table. Derek doesn't really know how amongst the other things that were happening, how this natural ease happened between them. Maybe it's because of all the files they've had each other's backs. Or maybe Derek had just gotten use to the lack of privacy Stiles had. Originally, Derek was supposed to be recruiting Deadpool to S.H.I.E.L.D, but after so much resistance from Stiles he kind of just put the persuasion on the back burners. Derek might not have agreed to the recruiting role in the situation, but he still felt like if anyone, he'd be the one to get Stiles to join them.  
  
However, Derek sometimes wished, almost desperately that he knew what he was getting into when he first came to these clowns and offered his assistance. Strings attached and the general observation that he doesn't work in a team all that well. But Whitmore has been what he considered well-behaved for the ten months he went along with them, he followed their foolish dream-world rules and got the job done. Time and time again, hell he even played ball with them when they needed the extra person on one of their little Avengers save the world missions.  
  
He surprised them with his ingenuity and ability to get things done with militaristic precisions. Made sense though, he's been a soldier for so many years. So many. They surprised him with the fact that they could actually get work done and bring down their targets with minimum civilian casualties and actually not look entirely stupid while they did so. Their costumes were questionable, and left little to imagination. Don't get him started. He refused to wear those stupid tight yellow leather things that fit entirely too well.  
  
“Are my spare clothes still here? I think I have something stuck in my suit, and it’s not what I would prefer it to be.” Stiles says already pulling off the boats and wiggling his toes. Derek watched him for a few seconds before waving in the general direction of the clothes. He keeps them in the closet now along with his own stuff, keeps things more organized. “Thanks dude.”  
  
“Don’t call me dude,” Derek grumbled as he put his jacket on the back of his chair, and then got to work on messaging Lydia.  
  
“Whatever dude,” he says from the bathroom as he changes to the red Henley that most likely belonged to Derek at some point, and a pair of sweatpants. Emerging from the room he made his way behind Derek to snoop over his shoulder, “Ahh, talking to the red haired beauty. What, is she threatening to behead me again?”  
  
“No, but if you keep talking then I might,” Derek says as he types their update on the computer, “I’m just telling her our status, Shield likes to keep updates on it’s team.”  
  
“Woah, no team talk wolfman, and no associating me with fucking Shield, so you can just erase my name from that right now,” Stiles says as he reaches for the laptop. He then gets pushed out of the way with a giant hand pressed to his face. Stiles retaliates by licking Derek’s palm causing the man to grimace, pulling his hand back.  
  
“Don’t touch my laptop, and yes you are. You’re just stubborn and an asshole,” Derek says and continues to type.  
  
  
**To** : martin.lydia@outlook.com  
_From_ : derekhale@outlook.com  
Subj: Update  
  
There’s only been petty crimes and a few abuse cases going on. But that’s all we’ve had to deal with. Surprisingly Deadpool isn’t as unstable as he was before, and I’m pretty sure if there was a good enough reason he’d come help us. Tell Captain and Hawkeye to keep sending me entail on the cases they’re on.  
  
  
  
Derek hears a complaining sound coming from behind him, and the corner of his mouth twitches up. His eyes glance over Stiles and then the message again.  
  
  
  
**To** : derekhale@outlook.com  
_From_ : martin.lydia@outlook.com  
Subj: Well Good  
  
    There’s a rising threat that Shield wants us to take care of. We need you AND Deadpool here. Now.  
  
  
Derek stares at the message for a bit, and reaches out to hold Stiles by the collar of his shirt as the spastic hero tried running away. He ignores Stiles’ loud complaints and focused on typing back with one hand. Derek got them settled quickly, and Lydia says she’d send a car for them within the next ten minutes. He didn’t bother replying after that and just focused on packing his stuff. Stiles, Deadpool, didn’t really have much to pack besides the few things at Derek’s place already.  
  
“You know, if you worked for Shield you’d have money for more clothes besides sweats and baggy tee’s.”  
  
“Yeah, but how are the health care benefits?” Stiles replied snarkily with a childish glare still on his face.  
  
Derek wanted to claw his mouth.  
  
Stiles was too angry to realize the complete seriousness of that day and the days to come. He sulked all the way to the car after packing a few things, and then continued to be difficult the whole drive to Deaton incorporate. And a part of Derek did in fact feel something close to guilt and pity, but he always crushed that down. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t fail just because Stiles wanted to be a toddler. He wouldn’t allow it, and that was beneath him. It was, it really was.  
  
However, for the rest of the ride Stiles was relatively well behaved. There were only a few attempts to jump out of the moving vehicle, and a few ill mouthed threats that Derek would only glare at. Besides that though, it was a nice drive. Their driver was a man named Jordan Parrish, who is an ex military soldier. He got out a few years ago, but still appeared to stay in shape enough to work as a Shield driver. Stiles seemed to take an interest in the man and continued to barbared him with senseless questions. Derek’s just surprised that the man hasn’t shown any signs of irritation yet.  
  
They get to the Avengers Tower fairly quickly, and it has Stiles and Derek half wondering if the car was another experiment of Deaton’s. Stiles saved the question in the back of his head, while Derek just let it go. When they stepped foot into the building Derek lead the way to the meeting room, while keeping a close eye on Stiles at the same time.  
  
✖️  
  
Stiles’ hands weren’t trembling. Back in the day, they used to tremble. His fingers would shake at the prospect of getting up and walking ahead, past the vast amount of people he had never seen before and he would pretend to forget the second he walked out of the room at the end of the meeting. It had taken him weeks to get to the point of actually wanting to be anywhere that wasn’t home —or what was left of it—. Now, it felt natural. Now, Stiles actually liked to think that groups of people cared more about things than he actually did, and that was always a good thing. Because that meant that they would want him, need him to participate. For the duration of him being there, these random strangers became forced friends, individuals he had to confide in—people he didn’t trust.  
  
For a man that had taught himself to trust no one, this was priceless.  
  
Stiles didn’t look at the people in front of him, though—his gaze was locked on his guns, the loaded weapons securely settled on his belt. It brought him some comfort that they didn’t make him remove them. He was standing in front of Lydia, Kira, and Scott leaving him to feel a bit awkward, but still very much angry for being forced here.  
  
“Deadpool—” Deaton starts.  
  
“Mister Pool will suffice—”  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
“Derek don’t be such a—”  
  
“If you finish that sentence I’ll cut you apart...with my claws and teeth.”  
  
Stiles opened his mouth and just narrowed his eyes at Derek for a few seconds before caving and crossing his arms over his chest. He saw the smug look on Derek’s face and made sure to bother the hell out of him later for it. He looked over at Captain America and snorted at the puffed out chest and goody-to-shoes look on his face. Stiles wanted to be friends with him and fight him at the same time.  
  
“Deadpool, It’s nice to finally have you here with us,” Deaton finally finishes with a tight but welcoming smile. “I’m sure Derek was nothing but pleasant to you in Los Angeles.”  
  
“Yeah, a real bucket of sunshine this one,” Stiles says sarcastically while he rolled his eyes and focused on the machinery around them. He ignores the amused snort he gets from someone in the room.  
  
“We have a situation.” Lydia began slowly. Stiles was tempted to bark something inappropriate at the woman, but he knew better than to incriminate himself in the first three seconds. “We believe that we may—require your expertise on this.” Stiles clenched his teeth together tightly, leaning all of his weight on his left leg. His arms remained crossed. The Black Widow waited a couple of seconds, clearly expecting a reaction. As she got none, the redhead sighed. “It’s serious. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”  
Stiles snorted, but the sound sounded more aggressive than sounded amused.  
  
Lydia continued to stand where she was. “Hydra—they did something. Something bad. We need you to—”  
  
That was when Stiles snapped. “I don’t give a fuck about what you need,” he hissed between his teeth, fingers on his guns again. He doesn’t even know why he’s so upset. He was set on just forgetting and holding a strong grudge against Shield. Not blow up the whole organization with a few guns and other explosives he definitely could find in the place. Not that he has ever thought about that of course.  
  
“Nobody cared when I needed something. And now you have the audacity to force me here and tell me what you need?” Lydia didn’t look hurt—hell, she looked as if Stiles had just told her how nice the weather was. Damn emotionless Black Widow.  
  
“Your mother’s death wasn’t Shield’s fault. Your father disappearing wasn’t Shield’s fault, either.” Lydia explained calmly and Stiles shifted his weight again—he felt like throwing up at this point.  
  
“It _was_. They needed _extraction_ , Shield didn’t send it in. Mom _died_ because Shield couldn’t be bothered to send a fucking extraction team.”  
  
Lydia pushed her lips together tightly for a long moment—Stiles felt his chest rising and sinking rapidly, his heart throbbing against his ribcage like a trapped canary. God, he didn’t need this. God, all he wanted was to live the rest of his days in peace. Oh dear God, he needs a drink.  
  
“You’re in pain, I get it. You’re mad at Shield, I get that too. But this isn’t about you. Or me, for that matter. Or even Shield. A whole lot of people are going to die, unless we stop this. And I don’t think we can do it without you.” Lydia calmly explained, “We’re out of options.” the Widow said quietly, her eyes searching for Stiles’. “You can go back to what you are doing now when this is over. I swear, you can go back, but Deadpool—“ Lydia took a deep breath before she shifted her weight again. “If you don’t help us, I don’t think that any of us are going to be alive in a week.”  
  
“We can be heroes, Stiles. Our powers, our mutations—we can be the better men. We have a responsibility to use them for good.” Scott says with a hand rested on Hawkeye’s waist as she molded to the Captain’s side.  
  
“I don’t owe them anything. I don’t deserve to be used—we don’t deserve to be used. We’re not weapons!”  
  
Stiles wasn’t a selfish person—he never had been. All he had wanted in his life was a roof over his head and mom and dad by his side. Had that been too much to ask? Stiles liked to think that it wasn’t, yet here he was, standing in a room with people he didn’t trust, and contemplating agreeing with the woman that worked for the man Stiles blamed for everything wrong in his life. However, was his hatred for Shield enough for Stiles to feel like he didn’t have to do this? Would he end up hating himself if he didn’t? The answer was simple. Mom and Dad would want me to do this.  
  
“Oh, this is just un-fucking-believable.” he muttered under his breath.  
  
“So you’re in,” Derek finally asked, and Stiles jumps a bit having forgetting that he and Martin weren’t the only ones in the room. Derek had moved slightly closer, and Stiles could see the pretty hues of green and blue in his eyes and hates that it calms him down a bit.  
  
Stiles sighed silently; this was a life and death situation. And no matter how much Stiles despised the idea of getting here and helping out, he’d rather help a little and end up alive to see the next day. Considering the fact that Shield had never attempted to come after him after he left, he also realized that it seemed to be more serious than one would assume at the first glance. Stomping out he ignored all of them and only groaned when he heard Derek’s footsteps following after him.  
  
“So he’s in right,” Kira asked looking up at Scott.  
  
“Yeah, he’s in.” Lydia chimed in with a smile on her lips that would be welcoming if it wasn’t so damn predatory. Without a word, the redhead took off out of the door and to her room.  
  
“I owe Lydia twenty bucks.” Scott said amused and slightly disappointed and Kira full on laughed at her boyfriend’s expense.  
  
She always loved Scott and his innocence—he was kind. “You still make a habit of losing money to her?” she asked as she stepped back so she could hold his hand instead.  
  
Scott snorted amusedly at her comment and shrugged. “Well, I don’t really give up.”  
  
Meanwhile Stiles was doing his damn best to keep Derek away from him. He could go to the room the Avengers have made for him, but that feels too much like agreeing peacefully to him. He walks around the entire kitchen and a majority of the living room as he tossed dog jokes at the sourwolf that was following after him. He glared deeply and mumbled profanities as he tried to blow off some steam. Derek didn’t say anything and not surprisingly that seemed to infuriate Stiles even more than if Derek was trying to sooth him instead. When he has enough of this ridiculousness Stiles stops in his tracks causing Derek to bump into his back. Turning quickly he pokes a finger at his chest and huffs.  
  
“Listen here big guy, I’ve about had enough of this bull—”  
  
“You’re being a childish little brat Stiles,” Derek says calmly with a strong set in his jaw. He took Stiles’ finger off of his chest and lets it drop back to Stiles’ side. He gives him a hard look and Stiles just narrowed his eyes at him.  
  
“Excuse you mister high and mighty Wolverine, but I for one didn’t ask for this! I could have been where I feel comfortable, but instead I’m stuck here on the verge of a panic attack that I don’t even know if I can have anymore! So fuck you sir, you can take your judgmental grumpy faced ass somewhere else and just let me—”  
  
Derek pushed Stiles against the nearest wall and Stiles couldn’t do anything but let him. He glared harder than before and pushed his hands against his chest. Derek only budged slightly before he’s pressing all of his weight against him. Stiles let out a breath and let his head hit the wall as he closed his eyes. “Let go.”  
  
“Not until you calm down Stiles,” Derek said sternly causing the lad to snort and Derek to press harder, “We just want you to cooperate with us for once. We had nothing to do with your family and you know that! Do you think I’d do something like that to you on purpose? Do you think I’d let them do that to you?”  
  
Stiles didn’t look at him or answer. He didn’t want to and he didn’t have to. He knew Derek was right about the last part at least, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of telling him as much. It’s silent between them then and Stiles finally opens his eyes to see Derek still looking at him. Stiles sagged against the wall a bit and let out a slightly less annoyed huff. Derek nodded slowly then and released his hold on Stiles before putting his hands in his jacket pockets.  
  
“Your room is two doors down from mine, I’m doing my morning run at normal time, if you’re not there don’t expect breakfast,” Derek grumbled lightly before turning on his heels and heading off.    
  
✖️  
  
Stiles meets Derek at his door promptly five minutes earlier than what they plan. He sees the smug grin that appeared on Derek's face and rolled his eyes thwart at the expression. He turns on his heels then and leads the way to the elevator. He hears Derek's footsteps behind him and sighed, as they started into a sprint once outside. It was weird. Stiles wasn’t in his suit, and in place were grey track pants and a red hoodie. Derek was pretty much the same, but instead of the bulky leather jacket he had just a plain white Henley on. Stiles took his time to appreciate the muscles and smirked when Derek would catch him.  
  
"Stop staring at me," Derek grumbled lightly and continued jogging forward, but turned his head to the side to look at him, "It's annoying."  
  
"Hey, if you're going to make me work to eat than I at least have to be slightly entertained, dude. And if that means watching the muscles in your back then so be it," Stiles defended himself and ran a bit faster so he was running next to Derek now.  
  
Derek rolled his eyes and hugged out an exasperated sigh before he was running faster to get rid of the merc with the mouth. He hears the disgruntled noise from behind him and shook his head as the corners of his lips involuntarily lifted up. They ran for what seemed like ages to Stiles, and only ended up stopping when Derek's stomach started to grumble. Stiles sighed relieved and turned around quickly to go back to the tower.  
  
"I never thought I'd say this, but I really missed this place," he says as the air-conditioned room automatically cooled his body off, and then marched to the elevator with Derek behind him. "I feel like if I could, I would die right now." He says as he leaned against the cool metal of the elevator wall. He lets his heartbeat slow to normal rate and closes his eyes when he hears the faint sound of Derek pressing one of the buttons. His stomach drops a bit as they move up, and he says as much before peeking an eye open when he hears a sound similar to a laugh. He raises a surprised eyebrow before he’s smiling and closing his eyes again.  
  
They get back to the living room in peace, and Stiles frowned slightly at how none of his other “teammates” were in sight. He looks to Derek, and huffs when the man starts walking off. Looking around he sighed again before he’s following after him. He has nothing better to do anyways. Stiles stays behind as he follows Derek. The other man looks over his shoulder at him and Stiles only raises an eyebrow questioningly, which earned him nothing but a snort and a smirk. Huffing he crossed his arms over his chest but continued to follow. He was starting to get the feeling that Derek was only messing with him, but those thoughts quickly vanished as he came into view of Black Widow and Hawkeye fighting with each other. Scott was sitting on the side lines looking a bit flustered but all in all his normal goody-two-shoes self. Stiles looks at Derek who was already staring at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
Derek raises an eyebrow in question, and Stiles just sighed before stepping forward to get a better look on the sparring match. It was like an equally matched tug-of-war. Each time one of them got the upper hand the other would trip them up and regain dominance. It goes on for a while until they both collapse on the ground agreeing on leaving it as yet another tie. Lydia gets up effortlessly then with a flick of red hair, while Kira looks to Scott and waited for him to help her to her feet. Scott pushes a strand of hair behind her ear before he’s also fixing her sports-bra. She thanks him with a kiss before pulling him to the water bubbler.    
  
Stiles blinks a few times before he’s bending down to rolls his pants up till his knees, and then bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Dude, this is awesome! I wanna fight someone, bro, Derek you should fight me. Like seriously, I just got a shit tone of energy just now and I am ready!” He says with bouncing around Derek throwing fake punches. When he’s back to facing Derek he smirks and then gives one more punch, this time actually lightly landing on his chest. “What do you say big guy.”  
  
Derek lifts his hand and pushes two fingers against Stiles’ forehead causing him to stumble back slightly. “Maybe another time.”  
  
Stiles gives a sullen look before groaning, “You’re always such a sourwolf, you know. And don’t think that I forgot about my promise of breakfast either!”  
  
“You just don’t like not getting what you want.” Derek counters with a shrug.  
  
Stiles bad an affronted expression before he’s poking his chest, “Says the dictating sourwolf, who doesn’t let Stiles have his fun.”  
  
“Your fun is stupid, and most times illegal,” Derek deadpans with two raised eyebrows this time. Stiles feels like he deserves an award for bringing both of the caterpillars out to play. Derek narrows his eyes at him as if he could read Stiles ’ thoughts, and rolled his eyes when Stiles continued to smirk.  
  
They all go to their own separate corners then to train. Derek ends up leaving though and heading to his room leaving the rest to deal with themselves. Stiles was lost, and was tempted to follow after Derek like some lost puppy, because he’s really never trained before. The closest he’s ever been to training was running laps with Derek in the park. Other that that, all the gun usage and swordsmanship just came easily to him. He didn’t have to work for it like Kira did, and he didn’t have to worry about perfecting it like Lydia. It was just, easy. So he wanders over to Lydia and joins her for a few grueling minutes before he’s going over to Kira, and working on their swordsmanship together. He quickly gets bored with that though and finds himself wandering over to Scott. The man is busy punching at a bag so Stiles goes to his real line of vision and picks up the shield. He puts it on his arm and then twirls it around a bit. Throwing it up lightly he catches it making his arm ache a bit as his bones vibrated.  
  
“How the hell do you catch this thing without destroying your hands?” he asked Scott, with comically wide eyes and dropping the shield on the ground. He then accidentally walked into it causing the thing to lift off the ground and he’d almost broken a toe.  
  
“Bone conditioning,” Scott had murmured lazily as he punched the punching bag one more time making it fly down to the ground.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Bone conditioning. It’s a martial arts thing. You stress the bone over and over, you get microfractures, and they heal stronger. C’mere.” He beckoned, and Stiles went back —giving the shield a wide berth— and took the hand Stiles stretched out to him. Scott had gripped his fingers with startling strength. “Bones are thicker, and there's even a lump right there where I really broke this one. See?”  
  
“Huh.” Not about to pass up an opportunity, Stiles had poked at taking slight pleasure when Captain America made a slightly bothered expression. Until now, Stiles has only seen Scott’s hands as a fighter’s hands, all tough and callused like his. “For a soldier you have some pretty nice baby hands.”  
  
“Yeah, but they can still do some damage if needed,” Scott says smirking a bit, and Stiles thinks he could actually really like this guy.

✖️✖️✖️✖️

“It isn’t as bad as you think it is, Deaton,” he responded blithely, fingers skating across the surface of his iPad, privately very glad there was a large, heavy antique desk between him and his irate boss at this particular moment.

“Stiles you’ve been a part of this team for only two weeks! How bad do you think I think it is, exactly?”  He had planted both palms flat on the desk and was leaning into his space, face turning a distinctly pink tint as his skin flushed with anger.

 

Stiles finally bothered to look up, “Moderately bad?” he offered, trying to levity, and, judging by the outraged turmoil currently curdling in Deaton’s face, failing spectacularly.

“OUR NEIGHBOR CALLED THE POLICE; YOU WERE ARRESTED, STILES!”  He snapped, his own wild thoughts betraying the rush of worry that managed to seep into his memories of that moment, getting that phone call.

“I wasn’t arrested,” Stiles pointed out, setting aside the iPad —and a particularly engaging round of Words with Friends— and resting his hands atop Deaton’s, “merely…detained.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” the exasperation was winning, already he could see his posture sagging beneath the sharp white pantsuit he wore when he particularly wanted to impress someone —he had an interview today, he remembered, he must ask him about it later, when he was less irate— his face already folding into an annoyed grin look that parents normally give their children, “our 94-year-old neighbor called the police because it, I quote, ‘sounded like someone was being murdered’ in our tower.”

                

Stiles found himself indulging in his own spike of irritation at that, huffing a sigh that did nothing to soothe Deaton’s ruffled feathers. “Those sounds weren’t anything like murder screams.”

                

“Stiles!”

                

“If you must know,” he continued, not slowing down to allow him a longer fit of outrage, “I was playing several films about insane asylums at once, trying to research ambiance.  The whole thing with Mrs. Smith and the police was really a very silly misunderstanding. Wolverine was out with Captain and Hawkeye, so I had to entertain myself somehow,” He paused and couldn’t help but add, “And those really weren’t anything like murder screams. Insane asylum screams sound completely different.”

                

“Stiles,” Deaton sighed, plopping into the leather chair behind his desk. He relinquished his hold on his hands with grace; fingers already itching to get back to his round of Words with Friends, “Seek help.”

                

“No thank you,” Stiles said lightly, a smile that he _knew_ people found completely adorable fixed on his face. Stiles was about to say something as he stretched out his red spandex, but was stopped by the building shaking. Deaton and Stiles, looked at each other and then out the window to see the cause of the disturbance.

The pillar of fiery smoke and dust, still boiling up from where the bombs had gone off, was being violently agitated at the bottom. A series of new flashes broke out, lifting and spreading the incandescent radioactive gasses, and then a great gush of flame rose. A column of pure hydrogen must have rushed up into the vacuum created by the explosion; the next blast of flame, in a lateral sheet, came at nearly ten thousand feet above the ground, and great rags of fire, changing from red to violet and back through the spectrum to red again, went soaring away to dissipate in the upper atmosphere.

Seconds later Lydia and Kira rushed in with their suits on, “Deadpool let's go.”

“Where’s—” Stiles says quickly standing up, nearly falling if it weren’t for the desk in his way.

“Derek and Captain are out there already, we’re waiting for you, now come on, asshole.”

✖️

The ceiling is wrong. Stiles blink as his eyes open and he stares at the ceiling. It’s clean and white, not the cracked and dirty ceiling he’s become used to. There is music playing in the room. And he aches. His face and his body feel like he’s been punched and shot and— Oh. He turns his head to the right, and there’s Derek. Dependable, wonderful Derek.

Stiles rolled over a little like an elderly man would, hands supporting his weight and held together with ease, nose pointing close to the ground, and an exhausted expression that made the corners of his eyes crinkle while they catch the light and turning almost orange from the syntheticness of the bulbs in their electric sockets.

"Are they intelligent?"

"Ya' mean dombotts?" Derek emphasized, fingers flying across the keys of the board in front of him, before deleting a word that was misspelled or grammatically incorrect to do it all over again, seeming disinterested with curiosity, "Lydia seems to think so. In small bursts, they seem to understand when they do something too dangerous and it’s honestly just a bother for everyone. Deaton doesn’t think they’ve reached full maturity yet, which explains why the threat isn’t as big yet. So right now, I would compare their intelligence as a teenagers when they find booze."

"Whiskey! Whiskey!"

"Shut it, ya' little—"

Derek was interrupted from his threat, rather harshly, by the door opening and a furious Captain storming in with an angry scowl and blood dripping down the side of his head. He lifts Stiles off the bed and holds him by the collar of the baggy shirt he wore. Derek stands then with his claws extended and ready to make a few slashes in Scott’s chest if he doesn’t put Stiles down. Scott gives him a look, and Stiles ignores both of them as he pushes Captain America away from him.

“What the actual fuck are you—”

“What were you thinking Stilinski?! We’re a team; you can’t purposely ruin our plans ‘cause you think you have a shot! We are the _Avengers,_ we help and avenge, not gloat and show off how many people we can take down,” Scott yells and takes a step closer, but halts when Derek takes a step closer as well.

“Technically, dombotts aren’t people, therefore I didn’t hurt any people,” Stiles says and straightens his shirt out, well Derek’s shirt really —his was ruined with blood and he didn’t have time to go to his room and change— he just hopes that Scott didn’t overstretch the fabric, he really likes this shirt.

“That doesn’t mean you can change the plan! Kira could have gotten hurt because of how insensitive you are! You sir are just an excuse of a—”

“Scott,” Derek cuts in pressing a hand against the Scott's chest, “leave.”

Scott looked at Derek and sighed a bit before turning and walking out, slamming the door behind him. Stiles let his own breath out then and sits back on the bed again. He doesn’t look at Derek and just focuses on his hands that are now cleaned from any traces of ash or blood. He gets ready to stand then, but before he could lift his foot big hands are pushing him back into a sitting position. Stiles looked at him confused, and then frowned at Derek’s upset almost disappointed expression.

“What, so now you’re mad at me? You know what maybe I should just—”

Derek covers his hand over Stiles’ mouth and gave him a soft look that didn’t look upset at all. Stiles notices, and goes slack in the hold as he lets his shoulders sag. Derek’s hand makes it way to his cheek, and Stiles sighed before he’s closing his eyes and allowing it, this, whatever _this_ was to happen.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” Stiles questioned leaning forward and at the same time letting his head roll backwards. He reached for Derek’s wrist and rubbed his fingers over the skin hoping that the warm touch would push his irrational thoughts out of his mind. If he could only focus on what was expected of him, then everything would run smoothly. Life would go back to what it should be and then he would be fine. Stiles would be fine. Derek would be fine. The team would be fine and then things would be…

_“Miserable,”_ Stiles’ mind kept returning to the word wishing like hell he didn’t feel that way, but he was. He was pathetic and needy. He was desperate and insecure. Worst of all he hated it. He hated that he had allowed himself to become clingy and eager for a man that he could barely tolerate. Being here, at the Tower, had screwed his mind up and he was only making things worse with his obsessions. He realized that. He knew it was wrong, yet something inside of him wouldn’t shut down.

“You look tense,” Derek’s voice pointed out causing Stiles to gasp. He jumped in the sitting position turning slightly to see Derek standing there looking at him with what could be irritation or concern. Stiles was to tired to figure out which one it was, but he watched Derek’s eyes give him a full perusal that reached out to warm his insides in ways that he imagined Derek’s fingers doing more often than not.

Gulping down Stiles fought to find the words to dismiss Derek and pretend that he wasn’t shaken by the sight of Derek after the battle that they just went through. It was no use though when Stiles lowered his arms down to his sides putting himself in a vulnerable state hoping that Derek noticed just how _tense_ he was. With the sigh it was clear that Derek noticed. His teeth flashed in a sympathetic smile and his tongue flicked out across his bottom lip causing sensation to shoot down immediately to Stiles’ groin.

“Want some company inside of that head of yours?” Derek questioned shifting his weight from foot to foot as he studied over Stiles. His smile expanded and with a playful wiggle of his eyebrow all the anger Stiles was feeling was replaced by the stupid, ridiculous nod that carried over him.

“Only if you plan on fucking me,” Stiles tossed out in an attempt to be smooth and casual, but the furious pounding of his heart gave away just how desperate he was for Derek’s hands on him. He gulped down again hating himself all the more for coming off as such a cock hungry slut, but given how long it had been he couldn’t help it. He was miserable and desperate and if he had to hate Derek, then he’d get back to it later after they had sex. He’d feel insecure about it after he couldn’t walk straight and was aching for days to follow still high on the way Derek made him feel.

“With an offer like that,” Derek’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, “how could I refuse?”

“What— wait, seriously?” Stiles asked bewildered. His eyes widening, and his lips parted as a shaky breath left his lips. “Like, no joke? You wanna slap the patty with me?” Derek’s eyes narrow at the words and Stiles awkwardly laughs, “Got it, totally a mood killer, so no saying ‘slap the patty’ gottcha.”

“Stiles—”

“Derek—”

“Shut up.”

Wordlessly he reached out to collect Stiles in his arms. With a slow curl Derek’s thick bicep surrounded Stiles’ waist pulling Stiles in against his strong, powerful chest. Thoughtlessly Stiles’ fingers pushed up into the dark hair twisting and tugging on the short strands. Soon after Derek’s lips found Stiles’ through the stream of thoughts and they started to kiss. Not a rough desperate drunken preparatory pre-coupling kisses, but really, really kissing with lips and tongues and teeth catching Stiles completely off guard when Derek pushed Stiles up back the soft plush bed. Cold air collided with their mouths causing Stiles to part his lips wider and accept Derek’s tongue stroking him in ways that made Stiles’ toes curl and his breath to hitch. Derek’s hands stretched out sliding up over Stiles’ spine and down cupping and squeezing Stiles’ ass.

“Derek,” Stiles finally spoke up behind a shaky, urgent gasp, “what are we doing?”

“What do you want to do?” Derek questioned reaching out to push a piece of dark hair away from Stiles’ eyes. The gesture was intimate, sweet and tender guiding Derek to cup Stiles’ face in his hands. He held Stiles’ chin coaxing Stiles to look up at him. He held Stiles in that position for a few minutes until finally their lips collided once again. It wasn’t what Stiles expected, but kissing was nice. It was actually better than nice given that Derek was rather skilled at doing so. What was more was that Stiles realized Derek hadn’t been rough or sloppy in his kisses. Instead he was slow and tender offering up a sentiment behind them that Stiles would have thought Derek would’ve avoided. Once they stopped kissing Derek searched Stiles’ face urgently, “Well?”

“...Derek...we could die,” Stiles says instead and looks a bit more flustered than before, “We are in the middle of a war and I could die, or you could die, or we both could die, and I might be selfish but I don’t want to start... _this_...while one of us could die Derek. The city is still putting out the fucking fire!”

“Stiles we aren’t going to die. You’re being—”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’m being overdramatic! I know what I’m talking about, and you know that it is very likely for that to happen,” Stiles says jabbing a finger at Derek’s chest, and ignoring how after he started touching he honestly couldn't stop. His hand hovered over Derek’s chest, and shivered before pressing his hand against the firm muscles before his hand was rubbing over the fabric of the Henley and up to his shoulder. “And I can’t do that...not again Derek. I don’t want to take that risk.”

“...Not even for me?”

He watched as a few —a very few if he may add— expressions danced over Derek’s face. Stiles classified every single one of them and sighed, as the main expression seemed to be hurt. So Stiles watched as Derek got off of him, and sighed when he turned around then. Stiles was half worried that Derek was going to leave, and then blushed when he realized they were actually in Derek’s room. He stands himself then and walks past him without another word, heading to the room he hasn’t even slept in since he got there.

Stiles doesn’t know why it has to be so difficult for him to have even the slightest amount of peace in his life. Sprawling down on the cold bed, he huffs and buries his face in the pillows. He groans and huffs dramatically as the sounds of fire engines and sirens blare in the night air. And in that time he only thinks of going to Derek’s room a handful of times. He however apparently still has a bit of dignity left somewhere, and restrains himself from walking out the door. That night Stiles thinks of his mom, and then dreams of bunny teeth and bushy brows.

The next morning, Stiles petulantly considers spending the rest of the day in bed. It’s ridiculous, how Derek's absence makes the whole house ring hollow and too big. And it isn’t as though Stiles doesn’t have friends he could call on; Kira and that nice secretary on the third floor, at least, would gladly spend an afternoon distracting him. Still, they aren’t who he wants and Stiles glares at the ceiling for a good five minutes before shoving the blankets back and hauling himself up. He goes through his usual routine; shower, breakfast, workout and shower again, though he acutely misses Derek's joining in with his workouts and encouraging him to do more than one set of chin ups, with the promise of a warm breakfast. Stiles has never been precisely comfortable in the Avengers mansion. It’s too big and too thoughtlessly ostentatious to feel like Stiles’ home without Derek's presence there to mitigate the obvious expense of it all. Stiles grew up in tiny apartments and most times weren't even furnished. He got lost in the house the first night be spent there.

Stiles rattles in the boring room as the morning wears into afternoon.

He starts a movie and stops fifteen minutes in. He starts a book and closes it after twenty pages. He starts a sketch and gives up in disgust after a handful of messy lines. And then he ends up standing at the door with his hand on the handle that lead down into the rest of the house, fingers light on the handle. He feels a little bit like a kid contemplating sticking his hand in the cookie jar, though it isn’t as though he'd have a reason to feel nervous about leaving his room and making himself present to the rest of the world.

So Stiles shuffles down the hallway a touch furtively and presses his hand against the wall as he slowly goes to the stairs. Stiles eases down them, conscious of how loud his footsteps are on the wooden floor. When he gets to the bottom he doesn't smell any breakfast, and only sees the Black Widow and Captain eating cold cereal and orange juice. Stiles is confused at the scene, but doesn't say anything besides a soft good morning and then goes to grab his own bowl and milk. He can feel their eyes on his back as he moved, and blatantly ignored it as he reached for the Captain Crunch box that _oddly_ enough had Captain America on the front of it. He sits down in his seat and made little eye contact as he poured the milk and then the cereal on top of it.

Glancing up slowly he looks at both of them, before he's shaking the box, “who took the action figure?”

“Why hasn't Hale left his room yet?” Lydia asked with narrowed eyes and an exhausted look on her normally flawless face. “He hasn't even been on his run.”

Stiles blinked at the information and stirred his spoon in the milk before shrugging, “maybe he's just tired. It was a long day yesterday.”

“Wolverine wouldn't do that...what did you do,” Scott says standing up with his palms pressed to the table. “All you've been doing is causing trouble and—”

“ _Excuse_ you _Captain_ , but I didn't ask to be here. The only reason why I'm here is because _Derek_ wanted me to. Not _Wolverine_ , you, Kira, or even you Lydia! My feelings for Shield are the same as they were when I first got here. I despise it, and all of you better be counting your stars that my feelings for Derek are—” he cuts himself off then and blinks astonished with himself. Shaking his head he stands up, walking away with the cereal in his hands. He comes short again when he sees Derek at the top of the stairs. Derek’s face was filled with shock and still bits of hurt from last night. Stiles just stared before walking up the stairs and then past him.

Before he could get far though, Derek grabbed his wrist holding his in place. Stiles looked away and gripped his cereal tighter, “Stop…just, stop please.” He sounded defeated, and if he could see Derek's expression he could only guess he looked just as defeated. Stiles sighed when he got his arm back, and just continued to walk down to his room.

✖️✖️✖️✖️

They were all gathered around the living room with Deaton talking about their game plan. Stiles and Derek were on opposite ends of each other, and occasionally glancing at one another while ignoring each other at the same time. Stiles was a little on edge with all that was happening, and the fact that Derek only seemed content on bringing Stiles’ feelings to the light wasn't helping. He knows that he was being unreasonable and really unfair to Derek, it's just that he didn't want to deal with this. Not now, and probably not after this war was over either. So when Deaton states that they will be combat partners, it causes all the wrong buttons to be pressed. He manages to hold his fit in, and not be the childish brat everyone expects him to be.

The plan is simple.

Infiltrate the main grid, shut down all commands, destroy existing and future bots before any more chaos could start.

The plan was _good_ . It was supposed to be _easy_!

Stiles knows this and the whole team knew it, so it all threw them for a loop when Stiles got shot with some green goo. No one thought anything of it at first, given the fact that Stiles could heal even a cut off hand if needed, but they all stopped when he collapsed to the ground. Stiles expression had changed from playful to panicked within seconds as his leg started vibrating and his vision started to get cloudy. Stiles might’ve been able to come up with a worse situation to be in if he’d tried, but what with his brain scrambled by a very likely concussion, it was actually pretty difficult.

Their informant’s cover as just another HYDRA researcher had been blown, forcing them to improvise a new evasion plan. It hadn’t been very successful. Stiles could only hope the other team – Scott, Kira and Lydia – had made it in safely. As for Derek and Stiles, they were as far from safe as you could get, surrounded and outnumbered by zealous HYDRA dombotts.

Derek wasn’t too badly off: aside from that blow to the head, he was only sporting bruises that shouldn’t slow him down too much.

Their best bet would be to hold on and wait for reinforcements – Deaton should show up with backup in around twenty minutes – but Derek wasn’t sure he could make it that far without killing someone. Especially not now that their enemies had figured out how protective he was of Stiles. How easily they could get to him through hurting Stiles whilst he was still injured. Stiles could hear Derek grunting furiously, and then he felt two arms lifting him from the ground, and running them off to wherever. Stiles doesn’t know where Derek could have went, but all the shooting had stopped, and now all he could focus on was pain. His pain.

“Oh God, I’m going to die,” Stiles wheezed out as he gripped his shaking leg and squeezed his foggy eyes shut.

“You’re not going to die,” Derek rushed out and his hands moved frantically around Stiles to attempt to clean him, “Why aren’t you healing?!”

“If I knew the answer to that we wouldn’t be in this situation now would we,” Stiles says softly and leans more on his left side to put pressure on the leg.

“This isn’t time to be joking Stiles…” Derek says seriously, and his voice kind of quivers.

Stiles blinks his blurry eyes open at that, and looks at Derek with awe. In front of him was none other than Derek Hale, Wolverine, sourwolf of the year crying. His cheek looked flushed, and to Stiles it looked like he was having a hard time catching his breath. “Derek…”

“I’m going to kill them.” Derek brushed a stray strand of hair off of Stiles’ forehead. He felt like this was his fault. He should’ve done something earlier. If Stiles died, he would kill those HYDRA scumbags with his bare hands.

“Derek...I’ll be okay. It’s me we’re talking about right?” Stiles says almost soothing, which makes Derek even more upset to be honest.

He retracted his claws and held a hand over Stiles’ face. He could just feel the slightest wisp of breath against it. Thank God. He placed two fingers at Stiles throat and found a weak and frighteningly irregular pulse. Whatever those bastards had done to him had clearly interfered with his healing somehow, and there was no way Derek could fix that – he didn’t really understand how it worked. If he tried experimenting he might make things worse. Deaton would know what to do. He only needed to wait for another fifteen minutes.

He prayed Stiles would be still alive after fifteen minutes.

Derek carefully wrapped the wound with his shirt, and maneuvered them so Stiles’ head rested in his lap. He takes two of the many guns on Stiles’ belt and keeps them in reach in case needed. Stiles didn’t progress, despite Derek maneuvering him around. Shaking him and giving encouraging words of motivation didn’t gain Derek a response, either. So he sat down to wait on the cold concrete floor with Stiles, feeling utterly helpless, his throat so tight with worry he could barely breathe.

The waiting nearly drove him crazy.

He tried to think of alternatives, but whichever way he looked at it, there were none: he could easily carry Stiles, but running heedlessly around the plant would most likely just get them caught again. And even if by some miracle Derek managed to get them out of the building, where would they go? They were surrounded by the snowy Norwegian outdoors, and it would be impossible to fight all of them off single handed. They were currently in the most secure position they possibly could be – the other HYDRA botts would attack right away. No, it would have to be Deaton or nothing.

Every now and then, Derek had to check to make sure Stiles hadn’t stopped breathing, because he was so damn still and pale, he looked closer to dead than alive. He wasn’t showing any signs of healing, but at least he didn’t seem to be getting worse, as far as Derek could tell. So when the door crashes open, Derek picks the gun up quickly and shoots without really looking. The fog clears and Derek goes wide eyes when he sees a bullet hole in the wall inches away from Deaton’s ear.

“This is the thanks I get for saving your asses?”

“Deaton,” Derek breathed and proceeded to hoist Stiles up, while putting one gun in Stiles lap and the other in his hand, “let’s go.”

They manage to get out of there, but to be fair most of the work was done already. All of SHIELD had came to help, and they sent those intergalactic space people back to where they belong. Lydia and Kira were panting as they mock fighted in victory to their accomplishment. Scott was with the agents talking about how high-tech everything is now, and the agents were thankfully just keeping him amused. Derek didn’t focus on them though, and rushed Deaton and Stiles out of there to the aircraft. Once there, Deaton got to real work.

✖️

Derek and Deaton kept fussing over Stiles, pushing food at him, telling him he needed to rest more, which was pointless. As much as he tried to, he couldn’t sleep. It certainly wasn’t helping with his recovery, but the worry over Derek wouldn’t leave him alone. He did nap for a few hours here and there, but only after he’d spent so many nights tossing and turning without a wink of properly restful sleep that he had no choice, his body shutting down when his mind couldn’t. Though the pain in his leg eventually faded to nothing after the proper cleaning of his leg, it still took him a while to actually walk properly on it. Deaton says it was because of how long his body was deprived from its natural healing. Stiles just thinks it’s the universe's way of saying ‘ _Fuck you Deadpool_ ’.

So as he blinks his eyes open to see ahead of messy dark hair on his chest, he raised an eyebrow and huffed. “You know I’m not really dying right?”

Derek lifted his head quickly then and blinked at Stiles momentarily dazed.

“I know I said I was dying, but that’s only because that goo shit was messing up my cell reproduction. So you can stop pretending like we’re on Grey’s Anatomy, or—”

That was all he got out before Derek leaned in and brought their lips together gently. Stiles was unresponsive at first, unsure of what to do or what was even happening. Derek didn’t mind though because Stiles’ lips felt nice on his. It took a moment for Stiles to ease into it but when he did it made Derek sigh happily. Tentative kisses turn to bold kisses, which quickly became a full force make out. The two shifted positions to face each other fully to get the most out of the experience. With fumbling hands Derek lifted Stiles higher on the bed and kissed him deeply. Stiles hummed happily and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck running his fingers through his hair.

When they parted it was cause the door had opened and Deaton had just gotten a good show of their first — _third_ — kiss, but they were too drunk off of each other to care.

Then, weeks later, if Stiles doesn’t complain when Derek sweeps him off his feet randomly throughout the day. Or whine when large arms wrap around his waist from behind when he’s deciding what to eat, it’s totally normal. And if Stiles wares Derek’s shirts and cuddles into his side during team meetings, or preen when Derek kisses along his neck. Or even when they call each other boyfriend for the first time, well. It’s just coincidental.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: irorn


End file.
